Jose Ignacio

José Ignacio was for a different type of tourist. The rich Argentinians, it seemed. Normally the last place you’d find us on a Saturday night would be a beach car park in a town. Here, it was different — a ghost town. Each house was clearly a holiday home, shut for the season. The windows boarded, gates locked and the driveways empty. Through some windows you could see the outdoor furniture stacked up inside, the swimming pools covered over.

Our parking spot was visited by the odd local fisherman. A few tourists wandered around haplessly, but this wasn’t much reason to be here. Despite the pretty flower-strewn coastline, the town itself was unremarkable. That was unless you were Lee — and Lee had an agenda.

We walked the near-deserted streets to the other small car park beside the lighthouse. Here there were a few cars, apparently enough to warrant a rather overly animated parking attendant. The lighthouse was open and, for the usual 35 pesos, you could climb to the top. It seems this is a flat rate charged at lighthouses all down the Uruguayan coast. This was not our destination though. With a determined glint in his eye, Lee continued on down the beach.

It was a lovely sunny afternoon as we strolled along the shore, dunes to our left and gentle waves to our right. After a short walk, we headed inland over the dune and arrived at several umbrellas and tables on the beach. This was La Huella. A rather expensive restaurant that Lee had been lusting after for some time. Specifically, the octopus dish.

He persuaded me, after only a few seconds, that enjoying a pitcher of sangria in the afternoon sun would be a good idea. The waitress came and took our order, asking if we wanted anything to eat. I shook my head. Lee too politely declined.

“We’re coming back later,” he told her.

I stared at him. “Have you seen the price of the menu?” I asked. “That dish is $35. And it’s a starter!”

I was then presented with a well thought out and structured argument as to why exactly we should return later and spend $35 on an octopus starter. I'm surprised there wasn't a accompanying powerpoint presentation.

“We never treat ourselves to anything, especially not nice meals out,” he led with.

Then: “We’ll never be here again. We should try something new.”

“What’s the point of travelling if you never try the local food or experiences?” he continued.

After half a jug of sangria and a promise to only eat instant noodles for the rest of the week, I gave in. Lee triumphantly whisked away the bill for the sangria before I could complain about that as well and went inside to pay. Time to go and have a shower then — can’t turn up to a fancy restaurant after not washing for a week.

After grabbing a bucket of water from the hose outside the vets, we retraced our steps to La Huella later that evening. It was literally the only thing in this entire place that seemed alive. Every other street was dark and empty, but when you’re a couple of blocks away from the restaurant the parked cars start lining the road and a steady stream of people gravitate in that direction. It seemed odd to me to have this posh restaurant in such a place. There was literally nothing else here.

We climbed the wooden steps and headed inside. It was packed.

As with any expensive place that is good, the staff were very nice. We didn’t have a reservation but were ushered to the bar, introduced to the woman working behind it and told she would look after us. After a few moments we were brought a selection of different breads, olives and oils to pick at. We ordered a bottle of beer and Lee got his octopus. I went for a rather unusual sounding dish consisting of artichokes, orange, cheese, caramelised hazelnuts and mint. It wasn’t something I would ever have considered putting together, so at least if I was going to pay for something, it would be something new.

Lee was very pleased with his octopus. I did try a small bit, but I personally don’t see what all the fuss is about. I am not a big seafood fan after all. I was much happier eating my odd artichoke dish, which was surprisingly delicious. The bartender provided us with the occasional extra snack here and there and, combined with the rather generous bread basket, we decided we didn’t actually need to order much more.

Lee had finished his treat. Time for mine. This pudding sounded amazing: a chocolate fondant filled with, what else, but dulce de leche. Everything here strongly features dulce de leche, which is basically caramel. I fiddled impatiently with my spoon while the content creator took his videos. Eventually I was allowed to eat it and I wasn't disappointed. It was awesome.

It turned out too that our waitress had her own business making vegan alfajores. She was keen to give us one to try and so, after our meal was paid for, we met up with her outside. We did a little video to put up about it and in exchange got a sizeable alfajor. Traditionally these are two small pieces of cake or biscuit with a generous layer of dulce de leche in between. Hers was a peanut adaptation. We didn’t eat it until the next morning with our coffee and, even writing this some time later — and many alfajores later — I can still confidently say it’s the best one I've ever tried.

If you’re wondering what they look like, check out @familiaalfajoreee on Instagram and, if you ever find yourself on the Uruguayan coast, it’d be worth your time to go and find yourself some of these amazing treats.